Outlaw Queen Alphabet: Smut series
by moonlessmondays
Summary: 1 Outlaw Queen oneshot per letter. All smutty.
1. A is for Art

**A/N: This is the first installment to the Outlaw Queen Alphabet: Smut Series** **that I have been working on. The updates might not be frequent, and it might not be in the order that the letters go (which will grate on my nerves endlessly). I hope you like it anyway!**

 _Thanks Miles for the Beta!_

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 **A is for art**

Regina has never been artsy.

She's never been the creative kind. She's always been more logical, more rational, her life always being guided by numbers and methods. Sure, she's got an eye for design, and has in fact taken some online courses to get a degree in interior design (it had been a hobby at first, but her husband had encouraged her to do it, and with nothing to lose, she had done it), but she can't say she's very creative. Not in the way her husband is, with his creative spirit and mind.

She'd been often told by her husband that she's his muse, and Regina can honestly say that she thinks she really is. She lost count of the times he's asked her to post for his sketches. He'd told her that drawing is like a part of him, and she, as an extension of his soul has become the one thing he enjoys to draw the most, and so he'd drawn her, parts of her, all of her, in many different angles, in various occasions, in states of dress and undress. She's proud of him, of his creative side, proud that he is able to make a living out of his passion.

And she loves to see what he comes up with, loves it when he takes control of his musings and ideas and executes it on whatever medium he gets his hands on. It's actually to absolutely no surprise to Regina that when they'd finally moved into their first house together, he'd claimed a room for himself and designated it as his own area, his workspace. And he's spent many, many hours in his studio, creating the finest pieces of artwork she's ever laid eyes on. She's no connoisseur but she knows beauty when she sees it and her husband's artworks are _it._

So should they be, she thinks, for he spends hours creating them, pouring his effort and heart into creating the pieces. It's not been unknown for him to lock himself in his studio when creates a piece and it's taken everything short of a missile attack for Regina to be able to coax him out.

So when she comes home one late afternoon after a long day at work, she's not even surprised that her husband has once again locked himself in his studio, pouring over his new piece. She doesn't mind this, doesn't mind the hours he spends creating a piece because he always makes it up to her, devotes all the time he has free for and to her to make up for the time he's lost. She just worries sometimes, of course, because she's not always sure he is able to take care of himself when he's in a state.

She doesn't even know if he's had dinner yet, and it's past seven already. She supposes she'll find out, but she needs to get changed into something more comfortable (his white tshirt that she loves to lounge in the house in), and make them something to eat.

It is past eight when she finishes her task, and when she does, she makes her way up to her husband's' studio, knocking on the door lightly.

"Robin?" she asks, opening the door a tad to peer inside. She finds him standing in the middle of the room, a clean, empty canvass in front of him. Judging by the size of it, she knows that he'll be here awhile.

"My love?" he asks, bewildered, as he turns around. He looks a bit lost, but bites his lip when he sees her. There's something in his eyes that Regina can't name. "How long have you been here?"

"Awhile," she answers, sliding into the room with a smile and closing the door behind her softly. She makes her way to him and wraps her arms around his neck, sighing softly when he pulls her closer to him, his arms wrapping around her waist. She inhales deeply, his clean pine-y scent wafting to her nose and enveloping her senses. "I missed you."

He presses a kiss against her forehead and tightens his hold on her, one hand rubbing up and down her back. "And I, you," he murmurs through her temple, and she all but melts into his touch.

She wants him to consume her, wants him to love her in all the ways he knows, all the ways she knows he knows. She wants him, wants him with all of her being, and loves him just as fierce.

"How's your day been?" she asks him, not pulling away, only embracing him tighter.

He sighs and kisses a line down her face, down the side of her neck. "Interesting," he says.

There's a shift in the atmosphere, a flaring of the temperature, a sudden change in the environment, and she pulls back to look at him, and it's there again, that look in his eyes that can only mean trouble. He pulls her back into his arms and kisses her this time, senselessly, taking her breath away. He slides his tongue in without permission, but he doesn't need one, not really.

He steals a kiss, but then again, can it really be stealing when it's something she freely gives as she arches back in his arms, her chest launching and rubbing against his. He's wreaking havoc into her senses as he strokes his tongue against hers, making love to her mouth the way she wishes he would make love to her cunt.

He's a talented man, her husband, and his talents are not limited to art. They exceed into the bedroom, and by far he's the best lover she's ever had—something that she's never made a secret of.

She feels his hand play with the hem of her— _his—_ shirt, and he tugs on it, making her raise her hand and pull her lips away for a few agonizing moment so he could slide it over her head. His right hand lowers to cup her breast, his deft fingers finding her hardened nipples and pinching it. She moans at his touch, wishes he'd lower his mouth and suck hard on them, too. Wetness pools low on her belly, and she feels heat between her legs.

"I have a new idea for an artwork," he murmurs as he now watches her watch him while he plays with her tits. He's thrown her shirt somewhere in the room and he is now using both hands to cup and tease her breasts.

It's also an odd thing to say, she thinks, when he looks just about to fuck the living daylights out of her. He finally lowers his mouth to her tits and sucks her nipple hard enough that she arches her back and pushes them closer to his face.

He knows exactly what she wants, and is unashamed to give it to her.

"Mmmhmm?" she hums, not at all interested at that given the circumstances.

He nods eagerly, though, and she doesn't have the heart to shut that eagerness down and make him attend to the eagerness she feels between her legs.

"Yep," he says and then pulls away. She lets out a disgruntled moan at the loss of his hands on her skin and she looks at him with a pout. "I'll get back to you in a minute my love, but first close your eyes."

She looks at him sceptically, before sighing and doing as he's asked. The next time she feels his hands on her it's cold and wet, and she opens her eyes to look at him, finds him kneeling in front of her with a grin, his hands on her legs and they are brightened by yellow paint. She doesn't know what to think, but he seems to have decided that she doesn't need to when he attaches his lips to her wet core. She doesn't get to say anything before he's sucking on her clit, making her rock her hips against his face. The yellow paint on his hands has now transferredointo her skin, marking her.

"Is this..." she huffs and then groans when he slides his tongue inside her slit, " _ohmyfuckinggod baby,_ is this your new— _urm, yeah fuck me like that_ —new project?"

She feels his smile against her pussy and he fucks her more vigorously with his mouth, and she takes that as a yes.

Her knees are wobbly at this point, the pleasure he's making her feel using his mouth making her legs feel like jell-o, and she needs to sit or be backed against a wall because she can't cum like this—she'd fall on the floor.

Without having to say anything, Robin knows what she's thinking, and he lets up, leads her to where the blank canvass is resting against a wall. He takes his hand to her torso, places them to trail after where his mouth has been. He sucks against the skin of her neck, and his hands soon follow, marking it yellow, before he moves on to her breasts, sucking her nipples in, biting, nibbling, before his hands follow suit.

She's throbbing now, her pussy in need of stimulation, having been fucked by his tongue to its almost peak, but her husband seemed to have other ideas as he submerges his hand to the red paint and rubs it down her body, awakening nerves she doesn't even know she has.

Red painted hands caress all over her skin, and briefly she wonders if these are the kind they could easily wash off, and thinks that they probably are, her husband knows how particular she is, and even if they aren't she doesn't think she cares at this point.

Her body is a map of abstract design, colours all meshing together. He pushes her against the canvass and stands behind her, lets her feel his hardness against her ass before he kneels before her and eats her again from behind. She rubs her skin all over the canvass, and she finally gets it, finally gets what his new, ingenious project is and she smirks, rubbing more against the white canvass.

She bends down a little and reaches for the paint, smearing it all over her front and giving Robin the chance to slide his tongue deeper into her hole. She cries out against the evading muscle, her hand laying flat against the canvass and leaving an imprint. She claws against it, drawing a mess of red and yellow lines against the white.

"Oh yeah, yeah right there, baby," she moans when he sticks his tongue inside her, stiffening it and pushing it in and out of her. Her hips ruck against him, following the rhythm he's set, until she is basically fucking his face. "Oh fuck yea, baby, I'm close."

Her words, instead of pushing him to push her over the edge, makes him halt, and she groans in frustration, and she glares at him over her shoulders.

"Fuck me Robin," she orders when he squeezes her ass and cups her breasts once again.

She's so wet, so fucking wet with all the teasing and she needs his cock inside her. He shakes his head though and points at his hard dick.

"Suck," he says, and she smirks, drops to her knees to do just as he says. She kisses the head first, licking it before licking the underside. He groans and closes his eyes, enjoying the feeling of her tongue on him. She doesn't give him much time though before she's swallowing him whole, letting the head of his hard cock hit the back of her throat. His hand threads to her hair, holding the back of her head, while the other falls against the canvass, leaving an imprint the same as her hand had on the other side.

He is grunting and moaning, his hips rutting against her mouth, and he pulls against her hair slightly, stilling her face as he thrusts into her. She could see how much this pleases him, could see the way he almost loses control, sweat dripping down his brow as he fucks her hard on her mouth.

"What a dirty little mouth," he mumbles, telling her he'll fuck her, fuck her hard, and she can't help it, she moans at the mere idea of it. He tells her he's going to fuck her dirty little mouth until he cums, and he does just that, thrusts into her mouth, in and out. Her jaw almost hurts, almost, but god damn, this feels too good.

She's been married to him long enough to know when he's coming, and she can see it, the lines creasing his forehead as he concentrates hard, the shortness of his breath and sloppy way he thrusts into her. But she doesn't want him to cum, not like this, not in her mouth, not yet anyway. She wants him to cum inside _her,_ wants him to fill her with his cum and feel them trickling down her legs.

So she pulls her head away, takes his hand from the back of her head and pulls away. She sticks her hand into the paint and rubs it down her front before she turns around, presses her body against the canvass, and turns to look at him heatedly.

"Fuck me like this," she instructs and he can see the way his Adam's apple bobs in his throat, his nostrils flaring as he seizes her hips and rubs the satiny head of his cock against her butt crack. She moans when she feels it slide down to her slit, shudders when she pushes back and it slips inside. She's so wet and so slippery that it's no hardship, and she's so keyed up that it's almost a relief when she feels his hot thickness sheathed inside her.

"Oh _fuck_ , baby, fuck me hard," she murmurs. A small scream rips from her throat when he thrusts into her sharply, almost punishingly, and he pushes her back, lets her skin rub against the material of their canvass. The paint on her skin now becomes a swirling pattern against white backdrop, and he takes her hand in his, laying them flat against the surface, making an imprint, but it's no longer separate, individual ones, but two hands, holding on to each other, making a mark against the scratchy surface.

His other hand holds on to her hips, holding it steady as he fucks her hard and deep from behind, holds it steady as he pistons in and out of her pussy. She moans and groans, takes every hard thrust of his hips against her ass. She feels his lips against her neck then, feels him suck hard at a particular point that makes her scream as her orgasm takes over her whole being, leaving her body trembling and him shuddering as her pussy milks his cock.

But he doesn't let up, of course he doesn't, he rides her through her orgasm, and then when she's all but spent and her legs could no longer stand on its own, he turns her and lifts her into his arms, wrapping one of her legs around his waist and throwing the other on and over his shoulder. He doesn't give her much time before he's pushing his still hard length inside her, and gods this position might be awkward but it's wonderful, she can feel him fully inside her, and it makes her float, makes her see stars behind her closed eyes, makes her winded and wired, and she arches his back, lets his mouth find her nipple as he fucks her into his big old canvass.

They're making art, and it's weird, and dirty, and fantastic but she loves this man so much and every part of him makes her ache, makes her want to just float away into the magic of his penis fucking her into whatever hard surface he hasn't done her in yet.

"Oh fuck Regina," he groans when she clenches her pelvic muscles and grips his cock, making her cunt tighter as he fucks her out of her mind.

"Ohmyfuckinggodrobinfuckmeohyeah," she moans in one breath as he hold on to her tighter and nails her harder and harder against the canvass.

She must look like a mess, feels like one too, but none of that matters really, when he pushes inside her cock-hungry cunt and erupts all of his cum inside her. He bites down on the nipple he's sucking on and reaches down to pinch her throbbing clit, making her come a second time.

It's intense, more intense than the previous one and she arches her back as she comes apart in his arms, falling over the edge.

She doesn't know much after that, doesn't know what happens after she closes her eyes and screams his name, but when she opens them again, she finds herself cradled in her husband's arms as he kisses her face over and over.

Her eyelids flutter, and she finds him grinning smugly at her when she finally focuses on him.

"You blacked out," he tells her smugly.

"You fucked me out of my wits," she tells him honestly, shaking her head when he reaches down to cup her cunt in his hands.

She lolls her head to the side, and finds the weird abstract painting they'd made in his big canvass. He leans down when he sees her staring at it, and presses a kiss against her lips.

"Do you like it?" he asks teasingly.

There's not much to see, it is a combination of weird lines and splattered colors, but she knows how it happened, knows what made it look that way and it makes her skin flush and her core tighten.

She sighs, wishing her husband would fuck her again.

"That's my new project," he tells her needlessly, "And I'm calling it _fucked."_

Regina laughs and shakes her head. She might not be artsy, but damn, she loves art.

 **Fin**

 **(10/08/17)**


	2. T is for Throne

**A/N: Hi! I knew I was never going to get this in an Alphabetical order. Oh well. Here, have some Dark!OQ as part of the OQ Smut Week! Enjoy!**

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 **T is for Throne**

He hasn't known her very long, or at least not nearly long enough for him to know every detail of her life before him, or before the supposed split with the other half of her they'd left behind in Storybrooke. He knows her, but not fully, and for the most part he prefers it that way. He wants to still discover new things about her, to get to know her on every level as they make their way through this journey together.

But despite that, he knows her well enough. He knows when she's discomfited, knows when she's anxious, or if things trigger memories that she'd rather very much bury. He can pick up on her moods, on what makes her uncomfortable. Even without knowing her whole story, he prides himself on the fact that he does, in fact, know her enough.

And he knows that the mention of her old husband gives her shivers—and not in the good way—and she becomes anxious, and though she tells him she's fine, that she's over it, that whatever that bastard has done to her, he'd paid with his death, a part of him does not believe it. He knows her enough to know that she is not okay.

He knows her enough that she hates everything about that old lecherous man, hates even the thought of him.

And so it comes to absolutely no surprise to Robin that she, though having reigned as Queen for more than 3 decades, hates everything that comes with it. She hates the title, the crown, the throne...hates everything about being queen as much as she hates the man who's given her the right to be.

And he understands why—it isn't the life she's wanted to live.

It's all in the past now, though, and they're here now and this is true. This is the present, and what presses on more than anything is his need to make her see that despite the darkness that clouded her glory, she is the Queen, and it's about high time that she enjoys being one, that she sees the kind of ruler she is—minus the revenge—and the kind of Queen she's always been before her past mistakes and misdeeds put evil before her name.

It's about time she gets to enjoy the perks of being the Queen.

And it's his mission to make her see that.

 **...**

As any task where his lover is concerned, Robin finds it hard to coax Regina to the throne room. She's had a dozen of excuses, all of which are the farthest from the truth of why she doesn't want to come into the throne room. It's the room that houses all of her nightmares, the past life she's learned to hate and where she had rotten, embittered, and before her redemption, before Henry and making up with Snow and finding her family in that weird rag tag of people, and now with him, it is the embodiment of the life she'd been very afraid she'd rot in.

But his plan is to make her see that it is not the case anymore. She needs not fear the throne room and whatever is in it, because the world is now her oyster and she is now finally free of the pain and the anger weighing her down. She's now found love (he really, really hopes that apart from Henry, this Queen has found it in him, because he definitely has found it in her), and regardless of the persona she continues to front to the rest of the world, or of this realm, she has now found happiness as well. The throne room and whatever it represents no longer holds power over her and her happiness.

"Robin," she grouses, though she doesn't pull her hand away when he half drags her to the throne room. "I don't see the point of this, when we could be doing a lot of other productive things."

The look in her eyes is saucy and the grin on her lips is even saucier, and he's so tempted, so very tempted by this siren, his Queen. He doesn't budge though, because he's on a mission, and he knows that when he's done, he'll be far more pleased, and so will she.

"Patience is a virtue, my love," he tells her. It used to phase her, him calling her his love—he'd started calling her that a few months into being together because he knows, has known when he'd laid eyes on her—or her other half anyway—that there is something special about her, something worth exploring. It's why he'd gone with her other split half to Storybrooke anyway, and when that failed, he'd lost all hope of having a new adventure, of creating a new story and turning a new page in the book of his life. Until the _Evil Queen_ had come along and had shown him exactly what he'd been missing, had shown him that he _does_ deserve a second chance. And it's with her.

Though what they have is new and exciting, it's also real and deep, and he knows, knows truly and deeply that he loves her.

"I'm the queen," she sasses at him. "I don't need to be patient. Everyone else simply needs to be running on my timeline."

He chuckles at that, knowing exactly how she expects that from everyone around her. He's been giving her a run for her money with the amount of compromises she's had to make with him because he doesn't ask how high when she screeches _jump._

He doesn't answer her and only opens the door leading to the throne room. She halts just behind him, stiffening, feet planting steadfastly to the floor upon seeing where he'd brought her. After she'd given him a tour of the castle, she'd made it a point to resolutely avoid that place and of course he doesn't blame her, understands exactly why, but he needs, _wants,_ to change her view of things, to let her see how beauty have come from broken.

"No," she tells him without question in her voice of her intentions, and he knows why, knows it and quite understands it but doesn't acquiesce to that, doesn't let her hide behind her pain anymore.

This is not to punish her.

"Regina, do you trust me?" he asks her, and it's a yes, of course it is, he knows that, but he wants her to say it too, wants her to hear herself say it and so that she starts believing it.

"Of course," she murmurs, hand tightening its hold on his as he wordlessly leads her inside the throne room.

He's starting to see why she hates it so much, seeing all of the mementos of the late king in there and his late queen and of their precious daughter. None marks the existence of the lonely, entrapped queen, and not that she'd want it to, but nothing here suggests that she'd ever been part of its history.

"Now, my love," he begins, his hand letting go of hers reluctantly for a moment, so that he might pull her close to him. He can see the anxiousness behind her glassy eyes despite her icy, rigid exterior (she's learned to relax some since her split half in Storybrooke had done some fusing thing to their hearts, and ever since they'd been together, but she's a very long way to go still in terms of having that pole stuck in her ass taken out completely—for the lack of a better term). He leans closer to her, lets his lips brush against her ear, pleased when her long brown hair tickles his cheek as she'd left her hair down today, curls flowing freely. "I want you to destroy everything that brought you so much pain in this room."

It's all of this room and more, all of this castle in fact, and though they can't burn their abode to the ground, as he's sure she'd wont to do, it's a start in letting out all the frustrations she currently still feels at every bitter memory of the life she's used to live, an outlet at the very least to release the pain she'd been hiding all these years.

"I don't—," she starts, stammering a little, and he sees she's a bit confused, he'd be too at such spontaneous suggestion, but he knows, can see very well in her eyes that she wants to, wants to destroy the pain, be rid of it once and for all.

"We've no use for this stupid room," he tells her, and that's the truth, they have other rooms they like better, "Might as well defile and destroy it as much as we can, yeah?"

He's right, she knows it and he knows she agrees as a saucy smile curves her lips up, and she's lifting her right hand, letting a fireball form. He doesn't let go of her, knowing she'd want him to help bolster her, and he doesn't really want to do that either, seeing how sexy she is as she destroys the very memory of the past she's hated.

It's a long way from healing her completely from the scars left of her emotional and mental nightmare but it's something, and he's happy enough that she's able to release some of her anger to anything other than Snow White.

Of course, he knows that Regina is redeemed by all rights, that's she's made changes that allows her now to maybe not feel like a hero, but no longer a villain either, and that's a good thing. He's happy that both Reginas are happy enough in their lives and confident enough and no longer seeking justice or revenge. But he knows her, knows that while she would not hurt a hair in Snow White's head, or any of her descendants thereafter, or anyone ever at all if not completely necessary, Regina has an anger inside her that she's only quelled. It's nothing she will act upon he knows, but he needs her to release that anger, if they are ever to really build a future together. He needs her past to well and truly be nothing but the past, and that anger that she thinks tethers her to the ground can truly finally be released and she will see that she'd been holding herself steady all along, needless of that anger she's stored away inside.

She's not about to float away. Not just because he won't let her, but also because he knows she won't let herself.

She's strong enough now that she won't let herself be sucked in that darkness again, even if she's about to spend the rest of the afternoon destroying every last bit of this room.

She steps away just a fraction from his arms and lifts her hand again to levitate the full body armour on display at the corner of the room, she releases it and it falls to the floor with a loud clang. She does the same to its twin on the other side, and then she turns on the banners hanging by the walls—such are the late bastard king's family crest printed on it—and she sets it on fire as a full grin graces her face. It's bordering manic, but he decides that it's a good look for her for now, as she seems to free herself by doing this. She sets the flags hanging on the ceiling and laughs gleefully.

She goes on for a while until the room is in disarray and whatever is inside is now in tatters. There are splinters everywhere from the wood she'd sent flying against the wall, and there are ashes from the fabric of each and every flag she's burned. The only things left standing, in fact, are the thrones, and only because she's been sectioning her destruction of the room and she simply has not gotten to the part of the room yet.

She is seemingly saving the best part for the last, and he can't blame her.

He looks at the thrones, all three of them. The one in the middle is too big, one he assumes is the king's, the one on its left, moved slightly forward is too small, and one he assumes had been Snow's. The one on the right, at the back and shadowed by the other two, is the one he assumes is hers.

He stares at the monstrosity and a deliciously dirty idea forms in his head.

Since they're fucking the king's properties over, why not fuck _him_ over, right?

"Regina," he murmurs, halting what seems to be a destruction spree his lover has commenced to.

She turns her head to face him and raises an eyebrow.

"I have an idea," he says, grinning at her, as she moves closer to him again, intrigued. She doesn't speak, doesn't ask, only looks him in the eye in a way that books no room for doubt that whatever it is, she's down. "I want to fuck you over on _his_ throne."

Regina's eyes widen, and she smiles, biting down on her lip, mulling it over but seemingly about ninety percent convinced that it's a deliciously dirty, great idea.

He takes her hand, now rid of the fireballs she's been conjuring, and then leads her to stand in front of the king's throne. Despite the years, it stands pristine as ever, and stands as imposing. She is looking at it oddly, as if debating whether she wants to set it on fire or be fucked on top of it.

He decides to give her the best of both worlds.

"You can set it on fire or destroy after I fuck you good and well on top and bent over it," he rasps against her ears as he pulls her close to him, and starts undoing the laces of her intricate velvet dress. She can magic it away, he knows, and he probably will in a while, but he does like the feeling of getting to undress her, even if it's only unlacing her top half.

She doesn't say a word, but she lets him do as he pleases, lets him undo her dress until her top half is exposed to his hungry gaze. Robin's always known that Regina is fit, has fucked her so many times to know and memorize every contour and curve of her delectable body, but it's still somewhat a surprise to find her completely naked underneath that glorious dress. It's a tight dress, for sure, but he'd thought she'd been wearing a corset underneath. He is glad to have been proven wrong this time.

He lifts his hand and brushes his fingers over her pert nipples before he cups her tits in his hands and squeezes. She's so gorgeous, so fucking stunning in every fucking way that he almost can't believe she allows him at all to touch her exquisite body. She moans softly and arches her back, and he knows he's enjoying this, is now completely sold to the idea of being nailed against this chair until she comes and comes, and it's the best part.

He feels his cock straining inside his trousers, feels it get a few sizes too small, but it's a small discomfort to her pleasure, and he wants to make sure she comes first, pun intended. Seriously though, she's been neglected so much, even by herself, that he makes it a point to make sure she knows she deserves to be put first. It's up to her if she believes it, his job is to show her that he does and he wants to.

"Robin," she groans when he uses his thumb and forefinger to pinch her hardening nipple. It's that throaty sound that makes him grab her and pull those very rosy peaks into his mouth, sucking it like he's never sucked 'em before. They taste good, so good, and she tastes so heavenly, that he barely lets one nipple go before he's moving on to its sister and sucking it hard and deep into his mouth, grinding his teeth lightly against the skin, making her grab onto his hair and pull him closer.

They're still standing, and it's almost difficult to keep doing this when his legs feel like jelly and all he wants is to lay onto her and pound into her undoubtedly sopping wet cunt, but he can't help it, her nipple on his mouth feels too good to let go of right now.

He licks her breast, from the underside to the swells, and then moves to flick his tongue against the buds, as he lodges a leg between her thighs, allowing her to rock her core and put some friction against her throbbing core.

He knows she's wet, can feel her heated wetness seeping through his pants. She's going to come like this, he's almost sure of it, and he could let her, but he wants better for her, wants more, so he stops, lifts her despite her protests and instructs her to get rid of the beautiful dress she's wearing. She does as he says without protest as she knows from experience that if she teases him with her dress, he will rip it off her body and not care.

"I'm so wet Robin," she murmurs, hands coming down to where she's naked and wet and wanting. He's deposited her onto the throne and she's spread her legs wide and apart, thighs resting against the arm rests as she lets her fingers play with her clit.

It's a sight, a beautiful sight indeed and she's gorgeous like this, completely stunning when she pleasures herself and lets him watch. He cannot help the moan that erupts from his throat (it's more a growl, really), when two fingers disappear inside her wet, greedy cunt.

She's such a lady in the streets, a queen by all rights and means, but she's a whore in the sheets and he loves that about her. He loves that she doesn't mind getting fucked hard and rough, loves that she doesn't mind when he spurts his cum on whichever patch of skin he so desires, and even encourages it.

She's got no inhibitions about her sexuality and embraces it even, which makes her too damn irresistible in his eyes.

"I'm so wet for you," she moans out as she starts thrusting her fingers in and out of her. Her other hand comes down to play with her clit, and god fucking damn it she's pink and glistening, her cunt is beautiful and so ready to be fucked.

Of course, before that, he wants a taste first, and so he kneels down before her, kisses her hard, thrusting his tongue inside her mouth without waiting for her to give him access, and sucks her tongue, making her mewl.

The vibrations of the sounds she's making is delicious and sends shiver down his cock as he trails a path from her mouth down her neck, to her beautiful, delicious delectable tits, down to her navel, and to her cunt.

He presses his nose to her skin, inhales her for a second, before batting her hands away and starts sucking on her clit, eliciting a loud cry from the woman above him. He holds her by the hips to make sure she doesn't buck into his face or moves away from his insistent mouth coming down on her and making love to her hot pussy.

She loves this, knows she loves how much he loves eating her out, and it's a thrill for him to be giving her this kind of pleasure, or honestly any sort of pleasure at all.

She's a fucking goddess.

And all his.

His to fuck.

His to care for.

His to love.

He moves one hand from her hips down to her thigh, giving her behind a slap before he pushes it back, pressing her knees against her body so that he could fuck her wet slit with his rigid tongue. He pumps the stiffened muscle in and out of her, fucks her with his tongue the way he wants to fuck her with his cock. She's close, he knows it. The telltale sign of her bucking into his mouth and fucking his face, combined with the loud and deep sounds she's spewing uncontrollably as she pinches her nipples tell him she's really really close. He surprises her by sliding three fingers inside her, and she's so wet that it eases in quite easily, and then he sucks on her clit, finally pushing her over the edge she's been gearing up towards.

She screams as her orgasm takes hold of her and then starts panting when he starts licking all over her to clean up her delicious cum.

She smiles up at him lazily and urges him up. She reverses their position, pushing him into the chair as she kneels before him. He wants to protest, wants to tell her that this is about her, not him, and wants to bring him to so many orgasms that she'll not walk right for a week straight, but she's determined, and then she's flicking her wrist to magic his clothes away and he sits there before her as naked as she.

She wastes no time and slides his aching hard cock into her mouth, letting the head hit the back of her throat. It makes his eyes fall shut as he enjoys the feeling of him sucking him. His fingers thread through her hair but he doesn't push her into anything, just lets them sit at the back of his head and lets her suck and slurp as she pleases.

She presses a soft kiss to the satiny head before she swallows him up whole again, cheeks hollowing as she bobs her head up and down his cock.

It's good, she's good, and it's all too good that he's afraid he might cum inside her mouth. That is not at all where he wants to come right now, wants nothing more than to cum inside that hot, tight pussy, and fuck it senseless.

So he pushes against her shoulder and tells her to stand up. She does, and then he's pull her down, to sit on his cock.

"Ride me," he tells her and she's more than eager as she sits on his lap, letting his big cock slide inside her tight pussy.

It never gets old—this feeling—and it's wonderful and even sentimental. He thrusts upwards once, then once more, as he prepares her for the hard, rough fucking they are about to do right here.

"You'd make quite a king," she murmurs against his ears as she pitches herself forward, arms wrapping around his neck, and she starts rocking her hips into his. It's a lazy pace at first, and it's great sure, but it's not what he wants, and so he takes hold of her hips and starts slamming her down on him as he thrusts upwards to meet her.

"And you're quite the queen," he rasps back as he continues his quick thrusts, making her cry out sharply, her nails digging into his back. She throws her head back, and he lunges, attaching his mouth to her neck and sucking and nipping, no doubt leaving a mark.

She moans as her head lolls to the side, her hips pumping up and down his cock. It feels good, for her to ride him like this, and she's gorgeous doing this, in the middle of the ruins of her past, she looks glorious.

But he needs more, wants more, wants to be able to fuck her into this blasted throne before she sets fire on it. She looks wild, and he's loathe to even ask her to pause for awhile but he needs to, needs to be able to take her and fuck her.

"Babe," he murmurs, his hips bucking up to meet hers at one particularly hard thrust.

She lets out a sound that's almost a scream, and she's too blinded by pleasure to hear him, so he grasps her hips and thrusts once, before he's slowing her down to a complete stop.

He licks at her neck when she looks at him murderously.

"Why are you stopping?" she asks with a hard tone of voice, and he doesn't bother to explain, only asks her to stand, and positions her so she's leaning over the throne, ass presented to him on all her glory.

Understanding dawns on her and Robin doesn't waste his time on words before he's slipping back inside and pounding into her. He draws out the most creative string of expletives he's heard from her...or anyone, really, as he fucks her hard and deep from behind.

She likes this, he knows that, has often presented herself in this position because she says she gets to feel him better, and he can't say he disagrees because he loves this position as much, loves being able to fuck her from behind and hit all of her deep inside.

"Ungh, yeah, fuck just like that baby, yeah," she half screams as her fingers ball into fists and she's unable to stop herself from bucking into him, fucking him as he fucks her.

She feels good, too good, and he knows he won't last long so he reaches out front and pinches her clit as he pushes in sharply. He feels her explode, hears the scream that rips from her throat, but everything is just a tad bit dull as he cums at the same time, his hot liquid spurting inside her. He thrusts a little bit more, rides out their orgasm as she spasms against his cock, gripping him in ways that makes him want to cum again inside her.

She whimpers when he pulls out, their cum seeping through her sodden cunt, dripping down her legs and it's such a delicious sight that he just had to kneel in front of her pink pussy and lick and suck again until she's coming a third time.

God, she was a fucked mess and it was beautiful.

She straightens a little later, when she's caught her breath, and lets him soothe her skin as he holds her tight into her embrace. She's sated and warm, and up for a cuddle, and perhaps this is Robin's most favourite part of their sex life.

"You know," Regina murmurs as she stretches in his arms, head falling onto his chest as she lets out a contented purr, "I might keep this throne after all."

His only response is a chuckle.


End file.
